Ion
by Ailsa
Summary: A young Athenian princess is raped by Apollo and hides her pregnancy from her parents. Based on an ancient Greek play.
1. Creusa

**Ion**

* * *

 _A/N: This is based on a play of the same name by the ancient Athenian playwright, Euripides._

Cold winter rain fell on the city of Athens, sending its inhabitants into the safety of their homes. Nobody noticed a fifteen-year-old girl, heavy with child, climbing the rocks of the acropolis above the rest of the city.

The girl's hair looked black and stringy under the heavy rain. She moved sideways, grasping a ledge with one hand for balance as she inched forward in little steps. From her other arm dangled a covered little basket.

Suddenly another wave of pain took over, causing her to almost fall to her knees. Her eyes were wide and she took deep breaths to steady herself.

When the pain passed, she resumed her climb.

She glanced upwards towards the citadel raised above the rest of the city, but it was out of her line of sight. That was a good thing, it meant her father's guards wouldn't notice. No one would have expected the princess of Athens to climb down the acropolis on her own, especially not in her condition.

Without warning, the rain raced down so hard that the droplets felt like little needles against the bare skin on the girl's arms. A whimper escaped from her lips and her teeth began chattering uncontrollably. Another wave of pain clenched her so hard that she could see the red behind her eyes. Her fingers clenched at the rock until the edges cut into her skin. She gave a low moan through her teeth until the pain subsided. Then she continued her climb.

She reached a corner of the cliff after a few more steps. From there, she caught sight of the empty cave. An unpleasant memory filled her mind but she willed it away. It was the only place where no mortal would find her or hear her cries. That was something she had learned that spring.

The girl leaned on each rock to see if it could hold her weight before continuing onward. Eventually she reached the cave. She took off her robes, wringing them as dry as she could, but the cold wetness clung to it and she left it at the mouth of the cave. She wrapped her arms around her body, continuing to shiver.

The pain hit her again, and when it was over her hands trembled uncontrollably. She had heard horror stories of women who died giving birth because their babies were too big—those women labored on for days until their hearts gave out on them. One of the serving women had died that way, attempting to bear King Erechtheus's bastard. The bastard child had died with her.

The pains came in waves now, growing more and more violent as time went on. She could feel cold sweat break out along her back, and with each wave of pain she suppressed a scream, clawing at the ground and then squeezing her own hands together just for something to hold on to. At last she couldn't tolerate the pain and tears began streaming down her face.

 _I'm going to die here_ , she thought as her body shook. _I'm going to die here and nobody will know where I am._

She imagined her father sending his men out to look for her. They would travel up and down the streets of Athens, but by the time they thought of looking in the cave she would be dead. Dead, naked, with a swollen belly so that everyone could see her shame.

* * *

The girl's name was Creusa, and she was the youngest daughter of King Erechtheus of Athens. She had been a spirited child. Perhaps too spirited, for an Athenian girl.

As a child she was built very lean, her arms and legs resembling sticks while her impish cheeks and large eyes gave her the appearance of a rat. But her features softened over time, and by age twelve she was a budding beauty, with golden skin and honey-brown curls that gleamed under sunlight.

She often slipped away from the citadel, much to her mother and nurse's displeasure. She picked flowers underneath the acropolis—white and gold and pink, stringing them together into wreaths that she rested on her head. Twice she forgot to take them off when she returned home, and both times she received a stern thrashing from Hippodamia.

"Do you wish to be killed?" her nurse demanded as Creusa's cries turned into hiccups. "The goddess Persephone was kidnapped even when surrounded by her little friends, what do you think would have happened to you?"

"No one saw me," Creusa responded, her voice thick from crying and peppered with hiccups.

"You saw no one. That doesn't mean no one saw _you_ , stupid girl!"

Hippodamia was, of course, referring to the gods. But the gods hadn't been seen by mortals for hundreds of years, ever since the fall of Troy. Sometimes Creusa wondered if they had left the world of the living altogether, like the heroes of stories she had heard.

"Have you seen a god, Hippodamia?" Creusa asked her nurse one day, when she was thirteen.

"How would I have seen a god?" the woman grunted. "I'm just a commoner."

Hippodamia was a Phoenician, having been sold into slavery when she was just a girl. She had nursed Creusa along with her own son who had died in infancy. Creusa spent more time around Hippodamia than her own mother, for the queen was a paranoid woman who fretted constantly about evil eyes, curses and charms. Queen Praxithea sometimes locked herself in her room for days at a time, crying inconsolably over a new fear and praying fervently to the gods. Creusa found it all very silly and preferred Hippodamia's blunt, honest nature.

Creusa felt she had little to fear from the gods—she, like her father and rest of the House of Erichthonius, were descendants of the god Hephaestus. If anything happened to her, she was confident he would intervene.

"Father says no mortal has seen the gods in over a hundred years," Creusa asked Hippodamia one day. "Why is that?"

"The gods come and go as they please," the woman answered.

The answer didn't satisfy Creusa. "They used to interact with mortals all the time."

"The crimes we committed in the sacking of Troy changed all that. The gods realized they had created savages who defile their temples with rape and shed the blood of innocents."

"Pallas Athena helped the son of Laertes return to Ithaca."

"The gods had their favorites."

"Then why can't the gods have favorites now?"

"Because the mortals of today are unlike the heroes of the past. If Achilles and Heracles were alive today, they would tower over us. It is no surprise the gods are too repulsed with us to come down from Olympus, seeing how we are sickly shells of our former selves."

Creusa tucked a curl behind her head. She pouted and tilted her head, self-aware of her prettiness. "I don't believe you."

Hippodamia scowled at her insolence. "You think Heracles could have held up the sky had he been the same size as today's men? Stupid girl!"

And Creusa went quiet, knowing she was too young and inexperienced to argue with her nurse.

* * *

Being more active than most Athenian girls, Creusa didn't reach puberty until she was almost fourteen. News spread through the citadel uncomfortably fast, and Creusa was terrified of what it meant for her.

"Why should I have to get married?" she asked Hippodamia, "we celebrate Athena, Artemis, and Hestia and they aren't married."

"They are goddesses," Hippodamia said dryly. "When you become a goddess, we won't make you marry."

Creusa continued to be nervous. "He will be old. And ugly."

"And what if he is?" Hippodamia asked sharply. "You are your father's last surviving child and it's your responsibility to ensure that Athens has an heir. It's a great responsibility, far more important than having a good-looking husband. Besides, mortal girls who don't wed quickly lose their minds. The unused womb can dislodge from its place and slide into other parts of the body, even crush the blood supply to the brain." Hippodamia tapped herself on the temple as indication. "You could lose your wits, like your mother did."

Creusa shrank back at the comment. "But Mother is married."

"All of Athens knows that the king hasn't bedded her in many years. Many women who haven't been bedded in years end up losing their wits, even the doctors say so."

"What about virgin priestesses?" Creusa asked curiously.

"They will be alright. The gods need them to be sound of mind so that they can perform their duties."

Creusa thought of another example, but hesitated before using it. After a moment she said, "You haven't bedded in many years either, and you haven't lost your wits."

Hippodamia gave a derisive snort. "I am Phoenician. We are of a different breed, not like the women here."

Creusa didn't know what terrified her more—marrying a stranger, or losing her mind when her womb crushed the blood supply to her brain.

When Hippodamia saw the terrified look on the girl's face she added gently, "Marriage won't be so bad. Even if you do not love your husband, you will love the babies you can play with."

Creusa didn't want to think of playing with babies. She felt she was hardly more than a baby herself, and she didn't understand how many girls married even younger than she did. Were they as terrified as she was?

* * *

In the cave, Creusa sat on her legs, rocking her body back and forth as she tried desperately to breathe through the pain. Her legs straddled the ground of the cave, where the rocks dug uncomfortably into her knees.

She had lost track of how long she had been down there. She had no idea if it were midnight or close to dawn. All she could think about were the waves of pain that pushed all other thoughts from her mind. She didn't even care whether or not she died, all she cared about was getting away from the blinding pain that seemed to have no end.

With one hand she reached down, feeling for the baby's head, hoping it would all be over soon. She touched only her own skin. She buried her face in her hands and gave a scream of frustration before breaking down in sobs. Had she done anything so grievous that she deserved this?

* * *

The previous spring, Creusa was determined to make the most of the blissful childhood that was soon to be over. She spent a disgracefully short amount of time at the loom and instead slipped out alone, gathering flowers and pressing them dry so that she could take them with her when she married.

It was easy for her to slip out of the citadel—King Erechtheus was too busy waging a war against the Chalcidians and Queen Praxithea mother was busy with her fanaticisms. Only Hippodamia would notice Creusa was gone, but the woman wouldn't dare tell the king and queen about it.

Emboldened by her impending marriage, she climbed down the rocks of the acropolis to explore. It felt thrilling to stand on the orange rocks and look out at all the hundreds of little wood-and-clay houses beneath her and the beautiful mountains in the distance. She hoped her husband would be Athenian. That way, he could move into the citadel and she wouldn't have to go anywhere.

She walked along the cream-colored rocks with pink, white, and yellow flowers swinging carefree in one hand. She then saw a cave in the distance.

She always liked a challenge.

Her eyes scanned the possible trails she could take to reach the cave, and then off she went. Her thin, agile body nimbly graced each rock. She was Atalanta, racing against an invisible suitor to secure her freedom….Artemis, tracking down a hunt with a band of nymphs…

Eventually she stopped when she reached the cave. Now she was Psyche, stepping foot into the Underworld to collect Persephone's beauty. Creusa pretended to jerk back in fear from an invisible three-headed dog and give an obol to the ferryman.

The cave was fairly small, and Creusa could see its deepest parts were empty. She continued to pretend she was Psyche, venturing deeper into her own imagination until she imagined herself collecting the precious box of beauty and venturing back into the land of the living. And when she pretend she was Psyche, opening the box, she let her eyelids fall shut like the beauty overwhelmed her and made a dramatic spin towards the ground.

Out of nowhere, large pair of hands grabbed her.

Creusa shrieked instinctively, opening her eyes and struggling. She was certain she had been alone. Someone was standing behind her, each of his arms slipped underneath hers, holding her in a tight grip. She could feel the heat of his body through her robes, and his heavy breathing behind her ear. She realized he was completely nude and recoiled in horror, screaming several times in rapid succession as she thrashed like a wild animal caught in a trap.

The intruder held her as easily as if she were a small child and pulled her down on the rocks. He then smothered her with his own heavy body. She couldn't see his face clearly in her panic, but could tell he was gold all over—golden skinned with golden hair, and beardless as a boy but with greater strength than any mortal, and she knew from his sudden presence that must have been one of the gods. She could smell his breath and it was a dizzying sweet smell.

And then came the tearing pain, again and again and again, each as painful as the last as he forced himself inside of her. He did it dozens of times before falling on her with a groan, and by then she was so stiff from fear that she couldn't even move and just lay there, frozen with her hands in front of her as if they would shield her as the tears streamed from her face.

Afterwards he touched her cheek and she turned away from it, refusing to look at him. He climbed off of her and she quickly crawled backwards across the ground, covering herself with her robes. She turned her tear-streaked face to the cave wall, the only defiance she dared show. After a moment the haunting sweet sound of a lyre echoed through the cave and she turned towards it before catching herself and turning back away.

Still she caught a glance of the god. He had somehow dressed in the brief span of time, and seemed more interested in his instrument than in her. The sudden change confused and angered her at the same time—so little were the lives of mortals at the hands of the gods.

The anger strengthened her and she then turned to him, glaring through her swollen eyes. He didn't look at her and simply continued to play the hauntingly sweet song that seemed to mock her misfortunes.

She interrupted him.

"Which one are you?" she asked rudely.

He turned his head, almost thoughtful at her questions. His fingers didn't leave the strings of the lyre. "Which one am I?" His voice was that of a youth.

Creusa didn't want to play his game. She looked away from him again. He put down his lyre slowly.

"I have many names," he said. "I can hardly keep track of all the names the mortals call me. On Mount Cynthus, I'm called Cynthius. In Lycia, I am called Lyceus. I am also called The Light, The Sun, The Twin, The Bright One…but most frequently I am called Apollo." He paused. "That, or Phoebus."

Queen Praxithea knew him as Loxias, the one of ambiguous prophecies.

Creusa continued to glare at the wall. "Are the other gods as cruel as you?"

"We are no crueler than mortals. Mortals will cheat, kill, lie, and ravish, why should the gods be any different? The only difference between being ravished by one stranger and another is your father's approval."

"Because of you, I will never be able to marry," she accused.

"Your father is marrying you off so that you will give Athens an heir. Your heir will be half a god. More than half, as the royal house of Athens is descended from the line of Hephaestus."

"I will expose any child of yours to the wolves," she vowed.

He walked along the length of the cave and rested his hand along the wall. "Then so be it."

He walked behind the edge of the cave and she ran over to pelt him with insults, but when she turned the corner she saw he was gone.

She sank to the ground, crying and cursing curled up on the ground in tears, and after she had composed herself she brushed through her hair and patted the dust off her robes. She wiped away the silver-pink fluid dripping from her insides with her fingers, and rubbed it off her fingers by rubbing her hands together. Once she had rid herself of any evidence of what had happened, she slowly climbed her way back up the acropolis and headed home, ignoring the dull pains in her body.

 _Your heir will be half a god._

Had he really left her with child? The thought of it horrified her. An unmarried princess of Athens, bearing a bastard child like a common whore. If she said she had been attacked by Loxias, no one would believe her. After all, the gods hadn't been seen in over a hundred years.

She told herself it was unlikely she would bear a child from this. Not every seed sowed. But he was the god of prophecy. If anyone knew the truth, it was him.

When Creusa returned to the citadel, Hippodamia scolded her for sneaking out and criticized the state of her hair and robes.

" _Ai_ , where were you?" Hippodamia asked disapprovingly.

"On the rocks of the acropolis," Creusa said quietly. "I was picking flowers."

She realized she had dropped the flowers somewhere in the cave.

"Foolish girl, your father wants you to meet his guest."

Creusa murmured some apologies as Hippodamia fussed over her, dressing her in a fresh set of robes and brushing her hair more thoroughly with a bone comb.

"You don't have your usual energy," Hippodamia commented.

"I'm tired," Creusa said weakly.

"That's your own fault."

And once again Creusa began to cry, and Hippodamia's manners softened.

"I know getting married to a stranger is scary," she said, misinterpreting the reason for Creusa's tears, "but you have to trust your father's judgement. You think he will marry you to a violent drunk? I am sure he will find a reasonable man. And you won't be alone, I will accompany you wherever you go. You don't realize how fortunate you are, when I was sold I was even younger than you, and I was a foreigner. I cried and cried, I was so scared…"

After Creusa's hair was neatly plaited on her head and adored with hair ornaments, her eyes dabbed dry, she exited her room with Hippodamia at her side. The two of them went to a large hall with high ceilings, where her father and mother dined with a large crowd of male guests.

Across the hall, a drunk and swaying King Erechtheus raised his cup at the sight of Creusa. "And there she is! Isn't she a beauty, Xuthus?"

Creusa lowered her head when the guests turned towards her.

"A fine beauty," she heard the young man named Xuthus reply calmly. "As if Artemis herself has graced us with her presence."

* * *

Creusa held a purple, squalling, blood-covered baby boy in her bare arms. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, gasping for breath and relieved the hardest part was at least over.

After she had time to rest and get a little bit of strength back, she slowly and shakily walked to the entrance of the cave with the naked baby in the curve of her arm. The rain had stopped.

Rain water had collected in the grove of a rock by the entrance. She slowly knelt down, feeling the pain of her chafed insides as she did so, and scooped up a little bit of the water. She washed the baby off, and then washed herself.

The dark sky had grown lighter, signaling that sunrise was near. She laid the baby back in the basket, wrapping it in the crude tapestry she had woven in the weeks before his birth. In the basket too were little trinkets—a golden necklace of serpents to represent the house of Erichthonius, and a wreath of olives—the traditional Hellenic symbol for the birth of a baby boy. She slipped her robes back on—they were still a little damp from rainwater, but dryer than they were before. She immediately felt relief once she put them back on, as if she had rejoined civilization.

She glanced around, as if the walls of the cave could hear her.

"I am exposing him, Loxias," she said loudly, hearing her voice echo back along the walls. "I am exposing him like I said I would. If you want him, you can take him!"

And she forced herself to make her way out of the cave and climb back up the acropolis alone. Within the cave she could hear the baby wake and scream, and she ignored the sound and continued to climb, higher and higher, until she reached the top of the acropolis. Then she ran, desperately trying to escape the baby's screaming echo in her ears.


	2. Whispers of the Gods

Author's Note:

 **The Unknown Mystic** \- Thank you for your review!

 **Guest** – Thank you for your review as well! About the Trojan War appearing before King Erechtheus, I did know it was set long before the Trojan War but I changed it because of the following reasons:

I felt that the original setting of Ion was a little flat because it takes place just a few generations after the founding of Athens, so therefore most of Greece wouldn't be developed yet. I didn't want a vague setting with barely any civilization, plus I liked the idea that mortals hadn't seen the gods for a long time (think of the beginning of the new Star Wars movie, where Rey and Finn speculate on Luke Skywalker like he's a legend), so I pushed the timeline forward to a few generations past where the myths end. I wanted the characters to be all "the gods? But they don't interact with us anymore!" I also wanted Athens to be the strongest city-state at the time, which wouldn't have happened until after the Mycenaean civilization weakened.

I wrote my previous Greek mythology fanfics be as canon as possible because they're part of the actual mythology, whereas the story of Ion was one of Euripides's original works and he deviated from the canon mythology to write an original story. In the Ion play, Euripides mentions that Xuthus helped the Athenians fight the Chalcidians, even though the Chalcidian uprising against Athens took place in Euripides's own time period in the 6th century BC - nowhere near the Bronze Age when this story was supposedly set. It also mentions a temple of Apollo, which also would not have been built yet. Since there were anachronisms in the original play and Euripides clearly didn't give a shiz, I decided I might as well add some of my own changes to build the world up a little. I did consider changing the names of the characters to explain the change in setting, but I decided against it because I was borrowing heavily from Euripides. I decided to treat it the way BBC's Sherlock and Elementary have Sherlock Holmes living in today's world.

Meanwhile, I want to thank you for reading my stories (I'm flattered you've read more than one!), it means a lot to me that people read my stuff because I really like to write but I can't even get my own mom to read my stories, lol.

* * *

 **Chapter Two: Whispers of the Gods**

* * *

By the time the sky had lightened to a faded blue, Creusa was back in the citadel, slipping unnoticed from corner to corner before finally reaching the dark safety of her bedroom. She picked a rag off a stool and carefully stepped over the snoring body of Hippodamia. Once in bed, she carefully placed the rag underneath her robes so that it could catch any excess fluids that still leaked. When she was certain she wouldn't stain the bed, she fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

Meanwhile, a pair of young lovers giggled and kissed underneath the rocks of the acropolis. They broke apart when they heard the sound of a baby's cry carry in the wind.

"What's that?" the girl whispered.

The boy didn't answer, and together the pair followed the sound.

"There!" the girl whispered, pointing ahead. "It's coming from the cave."

They started towards the cave, but drew back with gasps at the sight of an immortal figure exiting the cave with a basket in one hand and a herald's staff in another. With a leap, the immortal shot into the air and disappeared.

The immortal leapt into the air, flying higher and higher on his winged sandals, until the city of Athens disappeared behind mountains and cloud. He landed on the smooth rocks at the top of Mount Olympus.

With a lazy wave of his hand, he created a goat out of wisp of nearby cloud. The goat opened its large innocent eyes and shook its head. It was twice the size of an ordinary goat, its hairs smooth and remarkably soft.

The immortal waved his hand again, and a large golden bowl appeared in his hands. He knelt down and began to milk the goat.

A whistle of wind tickled the soft grass and another immortal beside the first, her gray eyes keen. She looked at the goat and the god, and then turned her eyes to the baby.

The god spoke to her. "I watched the mother flee back to the citadel, so that her parents wouldn't find out."

The goddess's mouth tightened. "It was a cruel, what he did to the girl."

When the god finished milking the goat, he gave another wave and a silvery cloth appeared in his hand. He dipped the cloth in the bowl, and then turned towards the infant.

"Let me," said the goddess, reaching out her hand.

The god was surprised, but he gave her the cloth and then the baby. The goddess put the cloth to the boy's lips.

"What a beautiful child," she marveled serenely, her fingers caressing the soft wisps of hair on the boy's head. Though she was not known for her nurturing instincts, the goddess of war sometimes surprised those around her by revealing glimpses of a softer side. She began walking slowly in a circle, circling the god with the baby in her arms.

The god watched her for a moment before he spoke. "He wishes for the child to be brought to Delphi."

A thoughtful look came over her eyes. "I suppose that is the only available outcome, now that what's done is done."

The god glanced at her. "You are disappointed."

She sighed. "I would have preferred that my city remain intact, and its royals spared from the whims of fellow immortals."

"But the girl still lives."

The goddess gave a snort of laughter, as if he were clueless. But she returned the infant to his arms.

"Perhaps he will treat the boy better than he treated the mother," she said with a sigh.

The god did not respond. With a leap he was in the air again, this time heading south towards Delphi.

The trip did not take him long. Soon he landed just outside the temple, cloaking himself and the infant in invisibility. He could catch a glimpse of the tall priestess with a rope of long dark hair as she lit the oil lamps along the shrine. She had served the Temple of Apollo since she was just thirteen.

The god laid the basket gently at the front steps of the temple and rendered the infant and basket visible again. He gave the infant a nudge, and soon it began to shriek. The priestess turned at the sound, walking out to the temple steps and peering into the basket on the ground.

" _Ma ton dia_ ," she whispered.

She whipped around to see who had dropped the child off in front of the temple. She looked right in the direction of the god, but saw no one. She turned back to the crying infant and lifted him gently into her arms.

"He's yours to raise," the god said, and the priestess glanced around in alarm.

"Phoebus?" she guessed incorrectly, looking for the source of the sound.

But the god didn't answer. With a single leap he was gone away, soaring back the way he came.

* * *

"It's time to wake up," Hippodamia declared loudly over the bed, her hands on her hips.

Creusa was too tired to move. "I don't feel very well."

She felt her nurse's cool hand on her forehead.

"Your head is hot," the nurse said disapprovingly. "Your own fault, for always sneaking out."

Creusa turned in her bed. She heard her nurse's footsteps fade away and soon fell asleep again.

Over the next few days, Creusa lay bedridden with a high fever. She drank a little water and ate a little bread, only to fall back asleep. When Hippodamia stepped out of the room, it took all of Creusa's energy to slip out of bed, change her rags, and crawl back into bed again. She tied the old ones in a bundle of cloth and shoved it between the bed and the wall, reminding herself to dispose of it when she had a chance.

Queen Praxithea came into the room to fuss over Creusa and decorate the room with an assortment of talismans.

"They are to ward off the evil eye," the queen said tearfully as she looked around the room. "Someone wishes to do our family harm. I will make a sacrifice tonight, a calf to Artemis."

Over the next month, Creusa slowly recovered. The fever had stolen the flesh from her bones until she was as weak and thin as a bird, but she was alive.

When she was well enough to bathe, Hippodamia called other servants to fill a basin with hot water. Creusa protested as her nurse tried to strip her and even consciously crossed her arms over her belly, which had mostly, but not completely, returned to its original shape. But her nearsighted nurse only made a comment about how skinny Creusa had become and gave her a gentle push to usher her into the basin.

"You are lucky to be alive," Hippodamia said. "Sometimes I felt the presence of Death in the room."

Hippodamia put a sponge to Creusa's arm and began scrubbing furiously at her skin.

"Where is Father?" Creusa asked.

"He left for Euboea, to subdue the Chalcidian uprising."

"It should be a quick war, then," said Creusa confidently.

"He most likely marry you off when he returns."

An uneasy feeling settled in Creusa's belly. She imagined herself alone in a room with a faceless stranger. Would her future husband be able to tell she wasn't a virgin? That she had already had a child?

Hippodamia began scrubbing Creusa's other arm. Creusa reached her hand out to stop her nurse.

"I can bathe myself," Creusa said.

"It's better if I do it."

"I can bathe myself," Creusa repeated.

Hippodamia gave a sigh and handed Creusa a sponge. "I've seen your naked body since you were an infant, there is nothing to be ashamed about."

"Go wipe the dust off my loom for me. I wish to use it later."

"It's not dusty. The room was cleaned just three days ago."

"Go wipe it anyway."

Hippodamia let out an _ai_ at Creusa's insolence, but left. When Creusa was sure her nurse was gone, she stood up in the basin and examined herself. Her breasts were larger and swollen, but she could pass it off as a normal growth at her age. Her once-hard belly was soft and doughy and disproportionate compared to the rest of her skinny frame. But the pregnancy had not left any permanent scarring on her skin as it sometimes did to others.

She sat back in the basin and scrubbed hard at her skin, wondering what happened to the infant she had abandoned in the cave. If it had not been found then it was surely dead by now, and she didn't dare return to the site to find out—the thought of returning to see its decaying remains sent a burning sensation through the back of her neck.

After she finished bathing and anointed her skin with oil, she put on fresh robes and went to the mirror to look at herself. Her face had hollowed out from the fever, flattening her round childish cheeks. Her skin was paler. She still looked young, but the vibrant girlish energy had been sapped from her. She wasn't sure if she could ever get it back.


End file.
